Why everything starts with because

Because it’s like a lemon lollipop at the back of your mouth,
Sweet and tart and bound to give you a tongue rash
Because words have replaced sleep and
it’s the only place that pain and solace intertwine.
Because there’s not enough hurt to go around so we share it
and we steal it and we covet it in the night.
Why because? Because it forever needs justifying and it’s not enough to simply
lay down the words with no explanation.
Because we’re sick of words with no explanation
So simply because.

Words Don't Matter

Because when you write, it’s more beautiful than all the scraped knees in the world
because nobody’s going to kiss it better.
Because when you write, it’s like splattered brains on a bathroom wall and the blood is simply
staining every corner of my life. There’s not enough bleach.
Because when you write, it’s like seeing you wear your clothes inside out and
fingering the seams of your shirt, running my fingertips down the stitches.
Because when you write, it’s deeper then all the paper cuts that I sustained in a lifetime and all the
broken words that I bit back.
Because when you write, you have no regrets which means I have no regrets which simply means
we were never a mistake.
Because when you write, I can drown in fiction just a little longer.
Because when you write, I feel sane.

Splattered Thoughts

Because it’s quiet.
Because I need to fill the emptiness with the click-clack of my keyboard and with my useless, meaningless and cheap thoughts.
Here, I’ll give them to you for free.
When the tough fall in love, there’s no stopping them.
When you wish upon a star, you’re just another fool.
When you love as hard and as long as you can, it doesn’t matter because the only thing that does is if he loves you back.
When you give up and you take that one last dying breath before completely collapsing, nobody’s going to drag you up and breathe life into those tender little lungs of yours.
Because when you love vertical stripes instead of horizontal stripes, you’re doomed for disappointment.
Because when you cut up your heart in little pieces and feed them to him one by one, he’s gotta choke sometime (there’s just too much and he’s just not hungry, can’t you see?)
Because when you need, you lose yourself to it.
Don’t you rather want? Want is a choice, or so we tell ourselves.
Because I don’t have any left in me to give, not pieces of heart nor vertical stripes nor the strength to drag you up and give you that one breath.
Because when you’re stretches thin and nobody’s giving in return, you turn so cold that nothing and no one matters (being needed, I rather be wanted)
I love you.
I just can’t do this anymore.